


Dark Paradise

by RaphaellaPaiva



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark Jon Snow, Drug Use, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Internal Conflict, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaphaellaPaiva/pseuds/RaphaellaPaiva
Summary: Jon, the perfect wrong guy. A James Dean. Daenerys, exactly the right girl. A Marilyn Monroe smelling like freesias and cocaine. The girl with violet eyes, the girl who finds perfection in the underworld where this british man lives, the man she never expected to love. What is good, evil, right, wrong? What is paradise, after all? They will live in a paralell universe between what you'd call darkness and paradise.-Freely inspired by Lana Del Rey songs, specially from the album "Born to Die: The Paradise Edition".





	1. Bel Air

**Author's Note:**

> This story doesn't advocate for drugs or any illegal situations you might find here.

**_Prologue_ **

****

**_Paradise:_** _1._ _(In some religions) heaven is the ultimate abode of the just_ _._ _2_ _._ _The abode of Adam and Eve before the Fall in the biblical account of the Creation; the Garden of Eden_. _3._ _An ideal or idyllic place or state._

 ** _Darkness:_** _1._ _The partial or total absence of light._ _2\. Wickedness or evil._

           

            What would you define as paradise? What would you define as darkness? Indeed, are there exact definitions for these words? For the main characters of this story, there’s a threshold between darkness and paradise - they walk together, were born together, grew up together and will die together.

            People’s conscience makes them imagine impossible and relatively unreachable things, creating dreams and expectations above average, and they’ll never come true. But what if the subconscience itself creates this? What if the subconscious makes you to have insane and crazy thoughts about darkest desires that, at first sight, seem so distant, across the ocean? And the worst: what if you decide to hear that subconscious of yours? What would happen?

            You would find freedom. You would find paradise. You would find darkness.

            And that was what lead Daenerys to the extreme and incessant fire of her desires. It was that will and that insanity for freedom what lead her to that spot and made her experience the best of heaven and the best of hell - at the same time, successively again and again and again. It was what made her feel free - free to experience herself, the world, the crazyness and the infinate marvelous true passion.

And it was what lead her to Jon Snow - the man who had nothing, but made her feel, live and experience everything. The man who presented her to freedom, the man who presented her to life. The man that loved her with every beat of his cocaine heart.

He, full of secrets and misteries, tormented by his demons, who met an angel that made his existence become a life. The angel that showed him that the right thing not always may be the best, the angel that showed him that the wrong can be hipnotizing to anyone. The angel that started to live in the dark paradise.

An guardian angel that fell in love for a fallen one.

Daenerys, the angel. Jon, the demon. Or vice versa. Or 50/50. All humans have pure desires and dark desires inside them. They only have to choose which side to follow.

They chose. And they suffered the consequence.

 

 

**_Chapter 1 - Bel Air_ **

_“Gargoyles standing at the front of your gate_

_Trying to tell me to wait_

_But I can't wait to see you_

_So I run, like I'm mad, to heaven's door”_

            _Help, help, help, help._ It was the only thing Daenerys could think. She was so tired, so frustrated — so calm and gorgeous externally, but terribly restless and screaming for help internally.

            The smooth breeze moved the palm trees in the huge garden of the Targaryen mansion, covered by the finest and trimmed grass along the plain surrounded with roses and a big pool. It was beautiful, it was quiet, it was perfect when seen by someone from the outside.

            Do you know Monet’s paintings? Those lovely impressionist paintings that portrait delicate landscapes, gardens and the most enchanting flowers? Works of art so gently brushed by one of the most talented painters of History, works of art that are extremely beautiful, though softly melancholic when appreciated from close. Works of art made by a painter in the worst days of his life, whose had lost his vision and dumped all of his feelings stiflingly agonizing in beautiful paintings. Works of art that hid all sadness and anguish behind the loveliest brush strokes.

            Monet’s paintings were like Daenerys Targaryen’s life. Always beautiful, always laughing like God in her mind like a diamond, but simply a mess inside and with an angry fix for freedom that was wide as the sky and as wavering as the most dangerous spot in the Indian Ocean. She wanted everything. She wanted paradise.

            — Sweetheart, are you going out with your boyfriend tonight? — Her mother’s voice sounded across the brunch table, in the garden.

            — I don’t know, he still didn’t come back from Hong Kong — Daenerys answered, looking at Rhaella’s big violet eyes, sipping her orange juice.

            — If he doesn’t come back today, we could go shopping, what’d you think? — she smiled — Or we could visit the Lannisters, it’s been a while since we last saw Cersei and Myrcella.

            She shrugged while hiding a small sigh, watching her father walking towards the white wooden table and sitting beside Rhaella.

            — Good morning, darlings — he greeted them with a smile in his wrinkled face, kissing his daughter in the forehead before he gives a smooth kiss in his wife’s lips.

            — Good morning, dad — Daenerys answered mechanically, far more interested in the croissant on her plate.

            — I was talking to some shareholders this morning and we’re going to gain lots with the yuan in the next days; we’re forecasting a great quotation — Aerys commented, sipping his coffee and turning to his girl. — You should study Economy or International Relations, my dear, the company would be at your feet.

            — You know that I don’t like any of these, dad — She rolled her eyes, trying not to sound acid.

            — And are you really going on with this Psychology thing? — Her mom questioned with a stingy hint. — At least we got Metaphysics and Anthropology out of your head!

            — You didn’t get anything out of my head! — she said louder, trying to control her irritated expression, feeling hurt now. — Sorry if I’m not the perfect little girl who does as she’s being told. I’m just getting to know myself.

            — And are you getting to know yourself until when…? When you’re 40 years old, as a single woman who didn’t even want to inherit your father’s company?

— You both are pathetic! — The silver haired girl jumped out of her chair, shoving the tableware. — The world is much more than this little life you live!

— Daenerys! — Rhaella scolded her, losing her primadonna composure for two seconds. — Where are you going?

— Anywhere! — she replied in an instant, grabbing the keys from the back pocket of her shabby short jeans, leaving her parents.

            And hearing some rumble about her keep driving that accident machine she called a car, and ignoring her family driver, Daenerys got in her red Jaguar parked in the mansion’s main entrance. Then she stepped on the accelerator to run away from Bel Air as fast as possible.

            The wind quickly cut off her face while some Elvis Presley’s song got into her ears and sank in each one of the parted pores of her body. The only things she could see were the palm trees, the hills and Los Angeles highway, the one she loved so much when she wanted to feel free.

            The young Targaryen felt suffocated, stuck in a golden cage which was kept by her parents, only waiting for the next buyer that would present her with a false idea of freedom. But she didn’t want an owner, she did belong to no one. She wanted to be at peace with herself, be at peace with the world around her.

            Daenerys had intense and dark desires inside of her. And she wanted the possibility to be free to experience them how many times she could. She wanted to be true to herself and to the people around her, without the need to pretend to be interested in subjects that didn’t matter to her, or to sketch fake smiles, or to be questioned fifty times if she was okay and, in all those fifty questions, to answer lies by telling she’s never been better.

            She wasn’t better — actually, she wasn’t okay. She was nothing but a girl that has been broken since she was born. Maybe it was a trait of her personality, but maybe it was a broken piece of her soul that only had to be mend.

            She laughed ironically, wiping a warm tear that slipped from the corner of her eye, while her other hand firmed the rampant wheel of the car. She was a fucking Monet painting — a sad definition buried beneath a pretty image.

            The day was already hiding when she parked her Jaguar in front of some pub at Fairfax Avenue, the long silver hair swaying with the soft breeze that was cutting the sunset. The young woman spent the afternoon at some library in Santa Monica after hours sitting on the beach sand, making never answered questions to the Pacific and wishing to lie there and to be taken someday, with no remorse or fear of breaking herself even more.

            And walking with her old All Stars that horrified her mother, Daenerys stepped into the place and let herself to get drunk with that scent of barley and tobacco, maybe just wanting to postpone the unpostponable.

            Walking in the streets and hiding his hands in the pocket to get rid of the gentle cold night from the Californian winter, a man was lost in his own insane mind, full of demons that never let him alone.

            He wasn’t a man who expected very much from the world, from the people or himself. He wasn’t a man who was afraid of being part of a no way-out system, which wrapped him like a python. That was just a wrong and broken man who had suffered all the disappointments and who shipwrecked so many times in this life he didn’t even felt deserver of another lost life in a next reincarnation.

            But he wasn’t a good man either. Or an honest one. _Oh no…_ That was of the smartest types of men who housed on Earth — he was almost a prototype of a man who makes women sigh and fall into his pleasantries, who had the destiny in his own hands and malt liquor sunk in the fibers of this tongue, which gave him the most dangerous and delicious flavor for anyone to taste.

            Let’s say if James Dean had another life after this death at a tragic car accident in 1955, that another life would be in the skin of this lost man — not that lost anyway — who was walking on the sidewalk of Fairfax Avenue, with his dark grey eyes semi closed and his hands leniently in the pockets of his denim pants. And those were the same dark eyes that, while passing at the front of one of his favorite pubs in LA, saw something that simply captured him.

Sitting next to the wooden counter was a girl in her shabby short jeans, a white buttoned blouse and a blue cardigan, too flowery and too happy for a place where people used to go to get drunk and forget their miserable lives. Somehow, something on the saddened face of that young woman made him understand that her clothes didn’t fit her dispirited and naïve features, almost reminding him of the face of the sweet Marilyn Monroe. Her long red nails and the silvery blonde hair, full of waves, covered her face, allowing him to glimpse only the reddened lips in a pout. And that face hidden between the woman’s hand made the man come dangerously close.

            Passing through the huge wooden door, he was soon invaded by the scent of sweat and tobacco, the place too hot when compared to the cold and the now drizzle in Los Angeles streets. And, to the sound of some old Van Morrison song, the British man with black curly hair got close, feeling the heat waves as his footsteps followed until the blonde girl.

            — Excuse me? — His voice was pronounced in a low tone while his right hand carefully touched the skin of the girl’s shoulder, covered by the delicate jacket. And it was a hard work to control the will to slide his fingertips along her neck, so niveous and soft. _It would be like silk…_

            The answer didn’t come. Instead of a conventional “yes?” or “can I help you?”, the man was complete dominated by big blue-violet eyes that took his breath away. Daenerys, however, was trying to memorize each one of that man’s features, so handsome and with a dangerous tone in the air. He sounded so mysterious beneath that leather jacket and denim pants, the hair almost reaching his scruff with raven locks, and an alluring look with a wry smile. It was just missing a cigarette in the corner of his pouty and rosy lips for him to look like the perfect copy of James Dean.

            And it was like her problems weren’t there anymore. Actually, it was like Daenerys didn’t care, forgetting the affray with her parents. They tried to control each part of her life surrounded by diamonds and expensive gowns, foreign cars and countless Louboutins — they were the reincarnation of a rich and perfect family from the 50’s, that didn’t leave their mansions unless it was to dinner with associates and successful businessmen, to go to beauty salons, shopping malls or golf courses, that were dread about driving through Sunset Boulevard at night or to talk to people who have a monthly income less then lots of thousands of dollars.

            — Would you mind if I sit next to you? — he said again, the raspy voice soaked in sympathy and curiosity, grey eyes lost in violet.

            — Okay — Daenerys delicately answered, biting her bottom lip while watching the handsome young man settling in the wooden chair at her left.

            — A Bourbon, please, Bill! — He gestured to the bartender at the opposite side of the counter, casting a glance to the woman at his side before smiling. — And a shot of Bacardi to the lady here.

            Daenerys looked at him surprised, arching her perfect thick brownish eyebrows.

            — I’m sorry, but I don’t drink — she said quickly, biting her bottom lip again, which drew too much of the man’s attention.

            — If you’re going to tell me what pains you so much, believe me, you need at least a shot of rum to tell with honesty! — He smirked, getting the drinks from the bartender, offering her the shot glass.

            — And who said I’ve got a problem? — she questioned with some cockiness, throwing her hair from her shoulders and putting the drink away. — And if I happen to have a problem, you’d be the last person on Earth whom I’d tell to.

            The acid and sharp reply made the British man smile larger, finding that the girl had a personality! _Definitely a Marilyn Monroe._

            — A girl like you in a place like this, alone and with a resting bitch face… — He sipped his whiskey, feeling the liquid warm his throat while he was looking for the right words. — Don’t get me wrong, but you exhale unhappiness. And something tells me this has a name and surname. Who is he?

            — I wish my problem was a guy — she murmured with irony, stealing a sip from the man’s Bourbon and grimacing when she tasted the terrible alcohol, surprising him.

            — What’d it be then? — he asked, the curiosity flaming through his eyes.

            — Family, dreams, frustrations... As usual. — she disdained, staring at the grey ocean that washed the young man’s irises. — What is your name and your biggest problem, Mr. I Have British Accent?

            — Name: Jon Snow, problem: my fucked life. — he answered from too close, laying a lock of silver hair behind her ear. — What about you, ma’am?

            — Daenerys Targaryen, and my ability of dreaming too much.

            — A life isn’t a life if it hasn’t dreams, _Dany._ — he softly murmured, badly noticing the nickname that made the girl’s belly fills with butterflies. _He intoxicated her._

            — So, what are your dreams, Jon?

            — To get rid of the demons inside of me.

            The honesty caught them off guard. Dany didn’t hope for an answer that was so dark, and Jon didn’t hope to answer with such sincerity. It was like if the gulf that existed between their realities created a bridge that intertwined their worlds — it was purely natural and thrilling.

            — And have these demons ever left your soul? — she smoothly inquired, incapable of breaking the eye contact they sustained with such need.

            — I feel like they’re leaving me for the first time.

            Daenerys shivered when she heard the English man’s words. He proved to be so light, so turned off, almost happy, exhaling some kind of a lethargic lull, which worked like a cannabis inhalation straight to her lungs. The girl tried to read those grey irises that stared at her so deeply and, despite there was an expression almost narcotic in his hard features, his eyes transmitted a slight trail of fear, ire, tiredness…

            She was absolutely enchanted and deadly curious, feeling each energetic fiber from the so electric body of that man operating like a pheromone and attracting her like a bee, crazy for a pollen grain. She could almost taste the danger and the freedom he scattered.

            — And what’d you do for a living, Jon? — she gently questioned, moving away a little so she could recompose herself.

            — You wouldn’t want to know… — He grinned, looking slightly amused before pouring another shot of whiskey.

            The silvery blonde girl bit her bottom lip, trying to decode that man — it would be a job for at least a hundred soldiers.

            — Tell me about you, Dany — he said calmly, sliding his dark eyes through each centimeter of that beautiful lady. — How old are you? Seventeen, eighteen…?

            — Twenty-one — she gave him a dry reply, rolling her eyes with brief memories — A huge party at Soho House, I should remark! — She laughed ironically, arching her eyebrows.

            — You really don’t like the life you live, aye? — he asked with curiosity, trying to understand what trapped her, infuriating her so much.

            — What does it have to be liked? — She shrugged with an honest look. — Money isn’t everything, Jon.

            — It sounds like a typical speech from someone who always had money at her feet.

            — Exactly — Daenerys pointed out, smiling. — Money is good, but it’s not the end of anyone’s problems. For me, it is the beginning of them all. — she talked with softness, sipping the man’s Bourbon. — It’s a world with no scape where, if you’re the winner, you’re going to waste your life trying not to lose your position; and if you’re the loser, you’re going to waste your life trying to prove otherwise.

            — An argument very well thought for a girl who has only twenty years old — He frowned, intrigued and absorbed with those words.

            — I never measured myself though my age… — She sighed, letting her eyes sweep the place with brownish and golden colored shades, full of people talking out loud and drinking beers. — I think I’m one of those people who think too much about everything, who want too much and end up dying frustrated.

            — And what do you look for so much, Dany? — The British guy got dangerously close, reading her deep and light irises, always so mysterious. _She fascinated him._

            — Freedom — she replied in a murmur that made his hair bristle —  Passion, desire, life. Paradise.

— And darkness? — He arched one of his brows while questioning, watching a dainty smile playing on her lips.

— Darkness and paradise were always intertwined for me, Jon — she whispered with her nose centimeters from his.

— Like lovers? — he asked with a smirk, and his grey eyes were burning while he got even closer to the girl.

— Like Catherine and Heathcliff, or Romeo and Juliet — she replied satisfied, slowly approaching him, already feeling Jon’s breath against her face — the smell of spearmint and something else she could very well guess as marijuana making her mind flow.

And without thinking anymore, he simply undid the petty space that separated them, gluing his mouth to those lips of her, the same ones that got him drunk from the first sight. She experienced each part of her body shivering when she felt her mouth being pressed against his delicious one.

Too soon though, his lips got away.

Daenerys blinked several times, confused and totally lost in the intensity; the British’s grey eyes burning like flames and with a gleam that intoxicated her. _He was hot. And he intrigued her to the point her thoughts became air balloons._

— So, Dany… — He moved his lips into a smirk that only James Dean would smirk. — If you hate your life so much, come and know mine for one night.

She bit her lips with that bold temptation. She wanted to experience something new, she _needed_ to experience something new or she would go mad. And that stranger who was exhaling sex and danger might be the scarlet letter that would take her to a place with no return — but, for certain, he would also be her lifeline.

_“You’ve got a flair_

_For the violentest kind of love anywhere out there_

_Mon amour, sweet child of mine, you're divine_

_Didn't anyone ever tell you it's okay to shine?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story I wrote many years ago in my mother tongue, brazilian portuguese. Now I decided to translate it and bring it to my favorite characters' skin. So, hope you liked it!  
> Any thoughts? Hope to update it soon.


	2. Gods And Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.  
> Enjoy!

**_Chapter 2 - Gods & Monsters_ **

_“In the land of gods and monsters,_  
_I was an angel living in the garden of evil,_  
_Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed_  
_Shining like a fiery beacon”_

 

            He and everything he touches tasted like The Fourth of July. The independence day in the United States, the freedom in his veins and arteries, transporting the energy and the oxygen flow that intrigued everyone who walked past him. Including Daenerys.

            — Where are we going? — she asked for the third time since she answered “yes” to the proposal and Jon dragged her out of the pub. She offered him her Jaguar so they could go to wherever in Los Angeles he was driving to right now.

            — You don’t give up, do you? — he retorted with an amusing smile, looking away from the road for a second and meeting the girl’s curious violet irises. — Aye, we’re going to the Old Paul’s. Do you know it?

            — No — she frowned, biting her bottom lip; a mix of awe and excitement sliding through her muscles.

            — It’s like a pub, at Hollywood, we’re getting close. — he grinned, appreciating the city’s nocturnal noise while the lightning poles and the bars lit the expensive automobile’s interior.

            The rich girl must be mad to let a complete stranger drive her car towards a totally unknowable place, but all that adrenaline rush was taking in her body like never before. She could feel the vibration and the gleam behind her eyes, the scent of danger and the so subtle taste the so recent kiss has left on her lips.

            Some say that genius and madness are synonymous that only a few people are able to identify — and the blonde girl was certain she was one of them. To her, Jon was much more than a man she has never seen before. To her, it was the discovery of a new land that she only knew from TV and from tales that traveled through her thoughts since she was old enough to venture herself into insane and increasingly dark ideas.

            Daenerys didn’t want to be bad. She just didn’t want to cheat the irrefutable will that dominated her chest.

            — _Voilà!_ — The British man smiled while he parked the red Jaguar in front of a pub at a low-key area in the neighborhood, the streets dark and some Nirvana song sounding from within the place.

On the sidewalk there were some shiny motorcycles and a group of people chatting and smoking, including two beautiful women who smiled at Jon as soon as he got out from the vehicle, getting close to Dany.

— Is everything ok? — he inquired with a confused look, slightly worried, without even noticing the two girls eyeing him.

— Everything’s great! — The young girl answered with a grin, suddenly reassured. _He was hers tonight._

— Let’s go then! — Jon grinned back, staring at her with those dangerous and hypnotizing eyes, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers so he could lead her to the pub entrance.

It was different from everything Daenerys had seen with her own eyes before.

The place was lined in dark wood and little ornamental bricks, the light was low and dark, dawning some sparks of gold and blue around the bar. The wooden tables were arranged all over the huge and dark hall while a counter at the back had whiskeys and liquors arranged inside the glass cabinets, with some bartenders already mixing some drinks for the costumers.

And all around that penumbra, she was able to see some groups of people around the pool tables at the corners, the cigarettes smoke blurring the air and the tempting and delirious chords beneath Kurt Cobain’s voice in _Heart-Shaped Box_.

Suddenly, she felt like inappropriately dressed for an occasion.

— What happened? — Jon questioned with lips in her ear, making her shudder with the brief and delicious sensation.

— I think I missed the dress-code… — she said with a smirk, looking at him.

The grey eyes looked away from her face and fell in the willowy and curvaceous body, which made his lips lightly curve upwards with a provocative smile.

— Don’t sweat it.

And with these simple words, Jon’s fingers unleashed hers towards the fine cardigan around her shoulders; she bit her bottom lip in expectation and curiosity.

— Do you mind? — he sensually asked, his accent bathing each syllable, as the girl simply arched her perfect eyebrows with a malicious smile.

— Be my guest.

With no more questioning, Jon ripped the delicate lilac jacket, making the buttons jump while the silver haired girl disguised a yelp of surprise, watching the man’s big and firm hands take the blouse off her skin before he crumpled it and threw it at some spot she didn’t care.

— I hope it hadn’t a sentimental value to you — he said in a low tone while working his fingers in her white shirt first buttons.

— None — she agreed; his breath so close to her mouth and those dark eyes sliding from her breasts to her eyes like they were trying to say “come close if you dare”, the same eyes that hid the biggest secrets her mind could not even imagine.

Soon, Daenerys could be easily incorporated there, her shirt exposing the valley between her breasts and the top of her black lacey bra that hugged them, perfectly fitting with her shabby shorts and the black Converse on her feet. The eyes with long eyelashes and her reddened lips were the final touch of the invitation to sin.

Jon found himself totally absorbed to that little and adorable stranger.

— So… — The girl talked with fun, placing her hands on her waist while watching the grey eyes through her body. — I got a promise of a night with new knowledges…

He arched his black brows in response before hiding a smile.

— We’re just starting — He nodded to the bar, walking with the girl at his side. — Have you ever had a night with Jose Cuervo?

— Who? — She blinked; her lips molding a small “o” as they reclined to the wooden counter.

— You haven’t, as I can see — The British man chuckled, sighting his friend sitting in the chair beside him, red head and red beard as always. — Tormund! A bad penny always turns up!

— Snow! — He turned to hug the mate, while Jon’s leather jacket lifted a little so Dany could see the beginning of a tattoo at his fist.

— Don’t you appear at your own pub anymore?

— You know, other business takes my time — he answered with a secret and funny smile, just like Jon’s, before his attention was headed to the gorgeous woman. — Who is this angel?

— Daenerys Targaryen — She smiled mischievously, shaking his hands.

— Tormund Giantsbane — he introduced himself, opening his arms as an exuberance sign. — Enjoying the place?

— Every inch of it — she answered with a provoking smile.

— Man, I love your girl already! — the redhead man remarked in a vibrating voice while grabbing Jon’s shoulders, who laughed.

— Now she’s going to meet the good and old Jose Cuervo — he said, looking at the girl before bending to the counter and ordering a shot to the bartender.

— I’ll leave you guys then! — Tormund winked. — I’ll be upstairs, Snow.

Jon nodded while the redhead walked away, turning back to the blonde girl as he offered her the drink.

— What the hell is this? — she asked, pursing her lips and staring at the golden liquid that exhaled alcohol.

He laughed, grabbing his own shot.

— A Mexican tequila to start the evening!

And then, he took in the drink under the girl’s eyes, who decided to do the same. The delicate face grimaced while she felt the liquid go down, burning her throat and spinning her head.

— Good, isn’t it? — Jon asked with a smile, delighted with the girl’s expressions.

— It felt like I hugged the devil.

The man’s guffaw was loud and Daenerys beamed a smile for being able to see him so stripped out. _He captivated her_.

It was like Jon Snow had awaken all the most secret messages and notes hidden between her thoughts, making them wake up to a new world after nights and more nights lost in themselves, inside a crystal dome where nothing would harm her.

That’s how she took in another shot of Jose Cuervo and felt like Frida Kahlo herself during her sprees, drinking competitions and nights full of tequila. That’s how the British man presented her to the lemons and salts as accompaniments, and then one more shot and another of vodka while she was telling him how boring was her Bel Air life, with all those diamonds and rivieras that girls around the world use to dream – without knowing that the price that was paid for a fullness life was, actually, an emptiness covered in shooting stars’ dust in their imminent deaths.

 She was like a dying star lost in the universe, fading away slowly while each day was born.

However, she gained a new perspective when a couple of her night companion’s friends arrived, with dangerous smiles, cigarettes on their lips and tequila shots in their hands. They were, without a doubt, variations of Jon Snow, with their “fuck-off” ways – the words in the lips of one of the girls, Margaery, repeatedly sounding in her ears: “Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun”.

Dickon and Sansa were the laid-back couple, full of shiny smiles and shameless kisses. The long red hair fluttering with each subtle movement and the rosy lips circling a cigarette, slowly inhaling the smoke like some old movie star from the 20’s. Her man was tall and strong, with a cool smile in his boyish face of green eyes and dark-blonde hair.

The other two looked like a little more absorbed in their drinks and dangerous stares – Margaery Tyrell with her long and wavering almond hair curling her waist, her wine-colored lips whispering something in Joffrey’s Baratheon ear, the guy who had expressive blue irises around dilated pupils and rebellious golden hair. The woman was like some goddess of that antique Greek statues while the blonde man had a British accent that was so thick as Jon’s.

— What a princess is doing here? — Sansa remarked with the voice in a subtle coarse, while her boyfriend’s lips were entertained at her neck. — Visiting the suburb?

Daenerys frowned as the English man grimaced, scolding his friend.

— Sansa!

— Let me guess… – She arched one of her beautiful eyebrows and sharpened her blue eyes, bending over the table, completely ignoring the scold. – Did you get mad with daddy and mommy, then decided to play the rebel without a cause for a few hours?

— No, I don’t play the “rebel without a cause”. – Daenerys sarcastically retorted, moving her fingers in the air while quoting her; the violet eyes burning the girl. – You don’t know a third of the things I’ve been through, so don’t try to suppress me or demote me ‘cause you think I don’t belong to this place.

Sansa bit her cheeks when she heard those words, ignoring the slightly surprised expression at Jon’s face by Daenerys’ reply; the others were suppressing a laugh. It was common of Sansa to extrapolate and mark the territory – not that Jon was something more than her friend, but that was _her_ place and _her_ group.

Later, the English man engaged a conversation with Joffrey, and the blonde girl  took a bottle of Budweiser to make her company before she could feel Dickon’s smile towards her. She looked at him with curiosity.

— Don’t pay much attention to Sans, she sounds bitter sometimes, but it’s only her way to test you – he said with is green and light eyes on the girl – She just doesn’t want you to make some stupidity and get us in trouble.

— Dickon, I’d never…

— I know, _Dany_ – he called her nickname in a gentle tone, making her grin. – That’s how Jon calls you, right? I think it suits you. Daenerys is too formal.

She chuckled, nodding.

— I like Dany.

And as much as it was a vision completely different from everything she had ever seen, the young woman liked all of it – actually, she loved it. Being able to know a parallel universe so distant from hers was like a breeze of fresh air straight to her lungs, or like that sensation of freedom and the fill when you aspirate the sweet vanilla cocaine, feeling it rip you from the inside until you can find your brain and each one of your nerve synapses.

That wasn’t one of her nights as a princess of Monaco or any luxurious perks you would compare to her.

That was her night as Jim Morrison.

_“You got that medicine I need_

_Dope, shoot it up straight to the heart, please_

_I don't really wanna know what's good for me”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, initially I thought about longer chapters, but I don't know if you guys are into it, so I guessed that is better more updates in shorter chapters, than long ones less often.  
> Let me know what you guys are thinking about the story and I'll update really soon!  
> Xx


	3. Video Games

**_Chapter 3 - Video Games_ **

_“He holds me in his big arms_

_Drunk_ _and I am seeing stars,_ _this is all I think of_

 _Watching all our friends fall_ _in and out of Old Paul's_

_This is my idea of fun”_

 

Nothing could compare to the amazing feeling of power and curiosity to know a little more about the strange world of Jon Snow. The way he laughed about some stupid joke Dickon was telling or when Margaery said something indiscreet, or the way he treated Joffrey like his “Brother in the Land” – which captured a little more of Daenerys’ attention, trying to imagine what lead a British man like him to the sunny California –, or even the gentle smile he always offered to Sansa, stealing her cigarette once or twice and earning a scowl from the redhead.

It was a sight beyond that dangerous look that exhaled an alert signal for anyone to stay away. He was like this idea of death – everyone feared it, but once you have it in front of you and you can’t escape, you are able to find it the most beautiful and tempting experience you have ever felt.

And he was gorgeous, but that was obvious. Jon Snow were so handsome as James Dean in his best days. He was tall, a muscular body, large and strong shoulders in almost divine harmony with his pouty lips, the smile with beautiful white teeth, the jaw surrounded with a black beard and then the eyes… Oh, those dark grey eyes and that curly long hair, the color of ravens.

Daenerys was loving to be a part of all that, interested in that piece of new world, delivered to her in a silver tray like a dessert leniently served before dinner. She wanted her cake and, why not, she could even have another bite.

— So, hottie, how did you know our bad boy? – Margaery questioned with a smooth smile, bending over the table. The guys had gone to the bar across the room to get more drinks.

— We bumped into each other at the Fairfaix Avenue pub, something surreal happened between us and suddenly linked us – She shrugged, maybe wanting the little fantasy to stay between the two of them. – Then he invited me for a different night and that was all I needed.

— He’s sort of intimidating sometimes, isn’t he? – Sansa remarked with a grin, forgetting her outburst from earlier.

Daenerys was surprised at first, but returned the friendly smile to the redhead, supporting her arms on the table.

— He is a little, yes, but I kinda like it.

— Yeah, he was always like this, I guess – Margaery murmured, receiving a curious look from the Targaryen girl.

— How long do you know each other?

— Some years now – she answered, lighting a cigarette between her lips while the redhead nodded. – Joffrey know him longer, it seems they lived in the same place when they were both teenagers.

— How so? A boarding school or something? – she inquired confused, listening Sansa’s soft chuckle.

— A shelter – she simply responded, earning a silent understanding “oh!” that crossed the girl’s eyes. She did imagine Jon hadn’t an easy life, but that was like a reality crash amidst the almost heady atmosphere.

— So he’s an orphan? – she asked softly, fearing the words would sound too harsh if said too loud.

— Probably, but we don’t know much – The red-haired girl shrugged, sipping her beer. – Jon doesn’t like to talk about these things.

The young woman nodded, turning her attention to the Budweiser in front of her, almost at the end. She already could feel her head partially lighter and fresher, but something stirred inside of her, wanting to know more about the British guy that saved her from another pathetic night in her dreams. She wanted to uncover each one of the secrets Jon so darkly kept. _Would be these his demons? Or was there something more underneath the surface?_

Daenerys _needed_ to know. He has saved her and she felt the need to do the same to him.

Dickon’s gaudy laugh took her attention, so she could see he and the two other men returning to the table – bottles of Absolut in their hands and anxious looks in their eyes.

— What about a pool match, girls? – Joffrey got close with a smile on his young face, pulling Margaery out of the chair while Sansa and Dany got up with funny stares.

— We also brought a little surprise – The British man said as he got close to the Californian girl, smirking as he showed the pot inside a small transparent sack. The girl tried to mask the gleam on her face.

— Bring it up, Jon! – The redhead exclaimed with a naughty expression, taking off little rolling papers from inside her bra and the short black dress, right before preparing the joint while leaning against the pool table at the opposite side from the one the others were going to start a match.

Joffrey and Marge were pouring some vodka shots with smiles on their faces and a kiss and another on their lips whilst the English talked to Dickon about the pool cues, preparing the balls on the table.

The silver-haired girl took in a shot of the translucent volcanic drink before leaning against the table at Sansa’s side, watching a dangerous smirking Jon taking his first long drag. He was fucking sexy and even more handsome as he casts that look on her, making Daenerys grin and bite her thumb cushion so she could hold the tingling falling in her loins.

— So, Grace Kelly, you want some? – The redhaired girl asked her in a hot and low tone; the blue piercing eyes behind the soft smoke.

She shrugged in reply, grabbing the rolling paper and carefully spreading out the weed along it, right before putting the sack on the table. The thin fingers in long red nails dexterously rolled up the paper and then she looked through her eyelashes, eyeing those grey dilated pupils bewitched with her every move. Still eyeing him, she gently licked all over the paper’s length, concluding her joint.

Jon had to control the tightness in his pants as he watched that scene, still unable to look away while the girl burned the paper’s butt, finally inhaling the dope slow and sensually – and she smiled as she sensed the warm smoke getting out of her plump lips with that marijuana’s taste in every tip of her tongue.

The man got close slowly, handing the pool cue to Margaery so she could make a move. Dany sat over the pool table while he rounds the one where he was playing at, stopping next to the violet eyed girl. Jon’s look made her shiver and smell the whiskey coming from him as she took another drag.

Without a word, the blonde girl simply offered the joint to Jon, feeling his long and warm fingers touching hers right before he puffs it on, sensing the weed in his pores and blowing the smoke right after. And they stayed like this for a reefer or two, only watching the group of friends laughing and smoking whilst playing pool. She would make a comment or another, Jon’s voice whispering some words in her ear, what would make her sigh and feel the taste of the man’s mouth around the joint every time she inhaled it again.

— The way you look at me when I drag… – she murmured with a smile, intertwining the joint on her fingers and feeling the white cloud around them.

— What look? – Jon grinned, moving his body to face the gorgeous girl, putting both hands at her sides, on the table.

Softly, Daenerys pulled the mary jane again in her lungs, slowly blowing the smoke against the young man’s lips.

— _That_ look – she whispered – You make me shiver.

— Like this? – he asked quietly, allowing his fingers to fall on her thighs, putting them apart in a dripping sensuality slow movement, getting even closer to that petit wobbly body as he slides the tip of his forefingers along her niveous arms.

— Yes... – she replied, closing her eyes as her hands fell on his large shoulders covered by the leather jacket.

His gentle nose carefully traced the pansy neck smelling like freesias and spring, reaching her ear as he whispered:

— I want to be alone with you.

— _Please…_ – she mewled, feeling the British’s big hands taking her off the table, and then they were floating towards the dark and cozy pub’s backdoor.

The alley was empty and lit only by a golden lightened lamp not so far somewhere; some stuffy Bruce Springsteen’s song coming from the bar whilst Jon pulled Daenerys in to a shiny black Harley-Davidson.

— Jon, whose motorcycle is this? We can’t get close like that…

— _Shhh…_ It’s mine, I always leave it here, at the bar, so I can go for a walk – he whispered against the woman’s lips, leaning on its seat and pulling her hips close to him.

— So, you’re an easy rider… – she teased with a smirk, affectionally sliding the cannabis cigarette between the man’s fingers.

— No, I just like to feel the wind on my face sometimes… – He grinned and shrugged at the same time, thinking about how, in a long time, he was feeling really good without have to be doped to think about life – or escape it.

It was undeniable that Daenerys was like an amphetamine in each of his cells, with her untouchable innocent way that only made him feel more willing to offer her the world. He was more addicted to her than to any other drug he had ever used.

She was gorgeous and naturally sexy, sketching a soft smile as he held the jay between her cherry lips, watching her leisurely inhaling the pot’s flavor, admiring each one of her post-ecstasy reactions in the moment he let the smoke rest on his fingers once again.

But when she opened her big blue-violet eyes to look at him, it was like the orbit had stopped for an instant. Those so deep irises that were able to read his most impure thoughts, those irises that were surrounded by long eyelashes, giving him butterflies with her cartoon eyes.

— _Beautiful…_ – he moved his lips in a murmur, feeling the young woman’s face so close to his as he was exhaling her lush scent.

And then, Daenerys pulled her lips on his.

The softness against her skin made her delirious and the man forgot the joint he was holding, burring the long fingers between her silver hair as the other hand pulled her waist closer to him.

She sighed when she felt his warm tongue sensually licking her bottom lip, making her open her red mouth and suck his in response, interlacing their tongues in an exasperating kiss. The thin fingers touched his curly black hair, bringing him, pulling him, merging him in each one of her nerve endings, and she could hear the little groan that escaped from his mouth as soon as she sucked his lips and slide them together again.

Jon’s left hand smoothly fell to the girl’s hips, pressing her firm and delicious ass on his fingers before returning them up, this time under the fabric. She sighed as she felt the hot and manly touch move up along her spine, making her hairs bristle as he got back down with his fingertips.

The man’s lips unglued hers, gasping and descending through her jaw and neck with wet kisses and little suctions that made her gladly pull his hair, scratching the skin in his scruff and the neck between his jacket. He nibbled her jugular when she pulled him back up and kissed him again.

The taste of pot and something else like whiskey or vodka vibrated on their tongues, which was never enough and made them want more of each other, tightening, kissing, feeling every one of their bodies’ electric fibers. They didn’t care with what the world thought or did, they only wanted to experience one another and to have that little piece of paradise they had just found.

And the time hardly minded when it was about the two of them in that hot and forbidden night, at some lost alley someplace in Los Angeles, away from those Bel Air price tags or from a lost life at the city’s Historic Core.

— It’s almost time for me to go home – she whispered between a kiss and another; at that point she was already sitting on his lap as the man balanced on the motorcycle.

He shook his head in denial, biting her ear lobe covered in diamond earrings, hearing her moan against his face.

— Let’s go to the beach before – The young man whispered, deeply staring at her eyes as he watched her slide her fingertips along his lips.

She nodded with an elvish smile, agreeing in a soft _“okay”_ that made him smile back. And, riding the two-wheel vehicle through the Hollywood streets, Jon could feel Dany’s arms tighten around him, resisting to the light pressure between her thighs deliciously glued to his.

The sky was still dark with little shining stars being spotted all over it, the city in a typical lull and a place or another still open. The practically empty long streets and highways, some peaceful jazz song sounding from far away and the wind hitting Daenerys’ silvery blonde hair were exactly what she needed to feel at peace at that moment.

She pressed the British’s warm body against hers as soon as she caught the sight of the coast, then he parked at some empty corner close to the beach and, in a nice silence, they slowly walked along the Pacific-kissed soft sand. The darkness made sure the waves breaking on the beachfront were the only evidence the sea was close, just like the salty smell exhaling life and harmony coming from the water.

Sitting on the sand amid the night’s penumbra, Jon scoured his leather jacket’s inner pocket, pulling the cannabis packet that has left and showing it to the Californian girl, who grinned at his look.

            — One for the road? – The soft raspy voice sounded in a low tone, what made the lady nod while she got the weed and the rolling paper between her fingers, calmly doing a new smoke.

            The man’s eagle look followed every one of the girl’s moves, narrowing his eyes in want as he watched her slide her tongue along the rolled paper’s joint before burning its butt and taking a long and deep drag.

            _That was sexier than the most beautiful Marilyn Monroe pose._

            — Where did you learn it? – he questioned softly as he accepted the jay she offered, getting high with the smoke coming out of his lips. – Shouldn’t you, supposedly, be an unexperienced girl?

            She giggled with his ironic although delicious murmur.

            — The young people from American high society know far more than they show – She smiled, arching one brow while resting her arms on her legs, playing with some sand grains.

            — And how did you learn it? – he asked, taking another drag as he admired the face of gorgeous distorted features.

            — High school slumber parties – She shrugged, smiling in nostalgia. – My girl friends and I used to rent movies, buy strawberry liquors and Arianne always had some hidden pot.

            — I’m surprised! – He chuckled as she playful pushed him before she got the smoke back.

            — When I went to college, Arianne moved to France and some friends decided to change and “become role models” – The young woman rolled her eyes, staring at Jon. – I was one of them and I ended up lying even to myself.

            — What does your world have that makes it so bad, Dany? – The British man asked almost in a whisper, curious, worried, with a strange feeling in his chest.

            The girl’s violet eyes only looked back at him, lost, like a child who forgets the way back to home. She swallowed as her irises watered, and then she took a deep breath and shrugged again.

— I don’t know, Jon – Her lips trembled, the voice clumsy. – I feel trapped.

— Trapped to what?

— To everything – She shook her head; big eyes making the man hold his breath as he felt her pain. – I feel trapped to everything, Jon.

He didn’t respond, not even tried to comfort the girl with some stupid self-help word. He just tenderly got close to the petit and so delicate body, sliding his fingers in an almost delirious rhythm along her face, following her long wavering hair and caressing her nape as he saw her close her eyes in comfort.

— _So broken…_ – he whispered with the soul in shatters, noticing, for the first time in years, the pain does reach someone besides himself.

And then, he dabbed his warm lips to hers, with no hurry, with no requests, with no questionings. Just feeling the mild and so pure texture of her lips that carried such a bittersweet life.

_What the sweet Daenerys Targaryen has done to the strong Jon Snow?_

 

_“Heaven is a place on Earth with you_

_Tell me all the things you want to do_

_I heard that you like the bad girls_

_Honey, is that true?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is only the tip of the iceberg, you guys have no idea what's about to come! haha  
> Tell me what you're thinking and I'll bring the next one soon!


	4. Tired of Singing the Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song of the day is an unreleased one. If you don't know Tired of Singing the Blues by Lana Del Rey, you can listen to it here: https://vimeo.com/70667612

**_Chapter 4 - Tired of Singing the Blues_ **

_“I'm walking down the streets_

_You wouldn't know what I was thinking_

_It's just another white girl day, hey_

_Ribbons in my hair, and I am sinking down”_

 

            Daenerys closed her eyes again, muttering with the sunshine that was cutting her bedroom’s drapes and hitting her face. Then, she felt a headache throb and she moaned, revolving around her bed.

            _Holy. Fuck._

She quickly opened her eyes and sat on her king-sized bed.

            What had she done last night? She must be mad! Completely and entirely mad! Jon Snow, kisses, drinks, talks, pot, smut and sunrise at the beach floated like a flash in her mind. She has never – _ever_ – been so spontaneous and inconsequential like that. But the worst is that she had loved every second.

            After they silently watched the sunrise, the British man took Dany back to Old Paul’s – and after a soft kiss on the lips and a promise that she’d call him when she wanted to have fun, the blonde girl left in her red Jaguar heading to Bel Air. And she just remembered finding the mansion hushed and quiet that morning, sneaking into her huge bedroom, hoping for some good hours of sleep.

            Despite that complete stranger that bewitched her, she felt the slightest vibration in her chest for doing something on her own, only she and her choice of saying “yes” to a new world full of discoveries and fascinations – with no hesitations, no doubts, no influences and bank statements of millions of dollars. Only Daenerys.

            The young woman had experienced a small piece of freedom, but how long would it take until the adrenaline rush was spend? When would she need another hit? She had no idea.

            The vibrating cellphone between the expensive linen sheets made her grumble and fumble it around the bed, seeing a new message blinking with her boyfriend’s name.

            — Robb! – she almost yelled, moaning out loud afterwards when she realized the big shit she had done. She was a girl in a fucking steady relationship who had a smut session with a hot British man last night. _Perfect._

What happened to her, after all? She loved Robb Stark. Well, she seemed to always wait something more from him, but she couldn’t ask for too much when she already had so much. She liked to feel his big warm body against her smooth skin and petit body. She liked his soft kisses, the gentle way his tongue treaded her bottom lip and the firm hand against her waist when they have to greet countless people at some dinner.

            She used to feel good with all that. However, now she saw she had never felt complete.

            Why her life had to be this way? She always had everything people all around the world dream to have, but she never got the easiest things everybody has – she didn’t feel happy. she didn’t feel full, she didn’t even feel she was honest with herself. Daenerys Targaryen was full of a big spacious void.

            With her chest frustrated and her mind a mess, she sniffed and swallowed the start of a pathetic cry, getting off the bed towards her huge suite’s bathroom. The walls of a recomforting white waved the connected rooms, which had a soft architecture that mixed contemporary with Mediterranean air. White drapes along the French doors towards the balcony, a king-sized bed with more pillows than Ethiopia’s population’s heads, and shelves full of books next to a wide television, a writing desk and light tapestry covering the polished floor.

            The swelled blue-violet eyes soon found the Prozac pills around her lotions and always useful headache pills. And by feeling the antidepressant go down her throat, the girl took a deep breath, trying to put a smile on her face and knowing that was just one more day ahead.

            Three knocks on the door startled her while she was laying on her bed again.

            — Baby, it’s me – Rhaella’s voice crossed the light wooden door, making the girl sigh and murmur a “come in”.

            — Please, mom, don’t come with another lecture – she said while looking the wary big violet eyes that got close – I just woke up.

            The silvery blonde woman eyed her daughter in a pure calm way, a maternal side Daenerys wasn’t much acquainted with, but that always let her calm inside. And seeing the daughter with a sleepy air on the bed, messy hair and the body covered with a thin nightdress against the sheets, a shy feeling of joy took in her chest, and she knew her girl was fine, after all.

            — I was worried about you, Daenerys – she said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress – You ran off with that car of yours and spent the rest of the day and the night out!

            — Oh, did you notice? – The blonde girl asked with a scoff hint, immediately regretting it. She didn’t want a fight early in the morning.

            — Did you get upset ‘cause your father and I told you some truth yesterday? – she replied with the same tone, always with her unshakable primadonna pose – You’re only looking for attention, Daenerys! Studying something that has nothing to do with your father’s business, getting out with that car without saying where you’re going to… Without even mentioning when you don’t go to important events and sneak out smoking like those women at Sunset Boulevard!

            The surprised expression cut the girl’s eyes. And she abruptly sat on the bed, ignoring the slight dizziness that appeared along the headache and the same surprised expression in her mother’s eyes.

            — Daenerys, I’m sorry, sweet…

            — Can’t you see? – she whispered, staring at those guilty eyes – You say things that hurt me, mom! You don’t mind your words and you hurt me. I don’t want anyone’s attention… I just want to be myself, without having to pretend to be someone I’m not.

            — You know we don’t have room for it in this world – Rhaella calmly tried to explain.

            — That’s not me, mom. I just want to live my life at peace, but it seems that no one let it happens – she softly said, looking away almost in a dreamy way.

            — Sweet…

            — But it doesn’t matter. I have to take a shower and get dressed – She shrugged, shoving the sheets to get up.

            — Where are you going? – she questioned with a slight fear in her voice, which was soon invaded for relief when she heard the answer.

            — I’m going to have lunch with Robb, he sent me a message saying he arrived from Hong Kong this morning.

            And without even noticing the aloof trace on her daughter’s soft face and putting a smile on her own lips, Rhaella felt satisfied – without knowing that, when Daenerys closed her bathroom’s door, she surrendered to a cry that was stuck in her throat probably since the day she was born.

            It was more than 1:30pm when she entered Getty Center’s restaurant. The numerous tables with expensive linings arranged in the wide room were crowded, with people talking and smiling along the high society’s civilized affairs. Huge glass windows surrounded the place, making possible to see the beautiful Los Angeles sight in that Saturday afternoon, with a light decoration in white, cream and gold nuances, which gleamed the daylight. Delicate salmon roses and purple tulips beautifully decorated the tables, whilst some bossa nova song floated in Tom Jobim’s voice, in a low sound through the speakers.

            Sitting by the table and ordering a glass of red wine, the Californian heir tried to decode what must be so interesting about that place to bring so many influent people – obviously it wasn’t the excellent food or the cultural arsenal that it has. It was a simple matter about see and been seen. She was in her light blue Chanel dress, her Gucci shoe and a Marc Jacobs clutch. High fashion and more high fashion.

She could recognize Irri across the room displaying the ring of countless carats her fiancée had given to her last week and she wasn’t tired of showing it just yet. She could see Ros parading a Loubotin with her new filthy rich boyfriend that go to SoHo every weekend just because he has his name in some Hollywood productions. She could see Tyenne two tables ahead, smiling in a fruitless flirt with the son of this same filthy rich Ros’ boyfriend. And even Theon and Daario were around, dreaming about which party girl from Beverly Hills they would snatch this week to suck their hard dicks while their girlfriends would cum with some fucked business man.

            Indeed, it was a basic matter about see and been seen.

            It was gross.

            Before the blonde girl could roll her eyes to all that, she felt a soft kiss in her neck.

            — Hi, babe – Robb said in her ear, grinning while gently kissing the girl’s lips and settling on the chair in front of her – I had to sign some papers at last minute at the company. Have you been waiting for long?

            — No, I just arrived – She smiled, sipping her wine and watching him order the same to the waiter. – So, how was your trip?

            — It was satisfactory! This time we got a deal with a good profit margin with the Chinese – he replied with a grin, intertwining his fingers to hers over the table.

            He was as handsome as always in his grey suit, the large shoulders and a red tie in a perfect contrast. His face was soft and harmonic with beautiful features, straight nose, rosy lips surrounded by a dark auburn beard and a wide white smile. The eyes of blue and happiness pointing the light soft skin, the hair of the same dark auburn color full of curls in a perfect cut of a 26-year-old young man.

            — What about you? What did you do this weekend? – He said with a playful expression. She rolled her eyes to mask the slight nervousness that took her.

            — Not much, just a trip to Santa Monica and the library.

            — Good – He smiled, sipping his wine and turning his attention to the menu, ready to order the appetizer. – A strawberry salad as usual, honey?

            — Sure, it is great – she answered with lightness, absorbing the anxious and frustration hint along the remaining alcohol in her glass.

            When the waiter withdrew with the orders, Robb looked at his girl softly, putting a long silver lock behind her ear.

            — I missed you this week – he murmured with a grin and the girl sighed with the warmth sensation that filled her, closing her eyes with his hand against her face.

            — Did you?

            — Very much – He nodded, sliding his fingers down her niveous soft neck. – I was imagining the both of us in that huge city, getting to know every place.

            — What about the museums? – she asked with a grin, intertwining her hand to her boyfriend’s one while looking into his shiny eyes.

            — I didn’t look for them – He frowned, trying to remember something, soon smiling to his girl again. – Anyway, you would love the malls and the restaurants there. So elegant, a magnificent refinement.      

            — And the people there, how are they? – She tried to sketch a smile, wanting to know more than luxurious things Hong Kong could offer.

            — Not very different, but the region offers so much opportunity to my advanced software business, so the entrepreneurs are always very promising – The man shrugged with another grin. – The city is of our level, babe. I’ll take you there next time.

            — It would be great – She faked a pleased expression that her boyfriend didn’t notice, grinning back and kissing her knuckles.

            Soon the waiter returned with the food and they stayed there in a typical Saturday lunch. They smiled to one another, talked about their parents, about Robb’s business and Daenerys’ studies. They interrupted their meal to greet four or five people – to book a golf match that would never happen with a congressman, to pretend they watched an actress friend’s new movie, to say they would make a yacht party with some friends at Saint-Tropez next summer, to hear new rumors about some reputed executive’s son that got some whore pregnant in New York, and that a friend businessman from Wall Street got broke after some mistaken application in the stock exchange.

            So what? Daenerys didn’t want to know about any of that. Why would she want to play golf with a son of a bitch congressman that didn’t make at least one fourth of his last election campaign’s promises? Why would she watch a ridiculous movie with a talking dog starring a girl who only talks bullshit about her? Why would she want to make a party at her boyfriend’s yacht with a bunch of young people that only knew how to spend daddy’s little money? Why the hell would she want to know a guy she barely knew had impregnated Kate Moss, Kylie Jenner or any other woman? Or why would she want to know about some businessman she had seen once or twice?

            For God’s sake, to know or not to know about any of those gossips wouldn’t change her life nor be the cure for cancer!

             The heir’s head was tying nots with all that staging. And it has been only twenty-one years of that play. How would she bear another twenty, thirty, forty years? That was such a fake, manipulative and cruel environment. One day, everyone kisses your feet; the next day, they stab your back with a silver dagger.

            Futility was those people’s motto, perhaps her own.

            Last night had been so sincere, honest, full of the most honorable insanities her mind and her body had ever experienced and all of that – next to high society’s shallow pool – looked like Aladdin’s magic lamp. Daenerys didn’t want to stay sane and be saved at the surface, she wanted to swim deep and feel what she’d find there that makes people drown.

             When you keep emerged, you have no idea about what lays deep down. But when you submerge, you have the absolute certain about what lays there and you’re able to chose to continue or, then, return to the shallow plane.

            Honestly, Daenerys Targaryen would rather drown looking for deep waters than stay in a life limited by the surface.

            She’d like to be with Jon Snow right now. She’d like to feel the male warm body against hers, to discover everything behind the British’s eyes and beg for him to show her all the expressionist beauty in his world. She had enough of the superficiality, of impressionism – of bossa nova and Monet’s lovely paintings. Enough of high society’s culture, made by elite for the elite. Enough of pretty images that hid the melancholy. Enough of _Wave_ playing through that restaurant’s speakers.

            It was a beautiful art, indeed. But it wasn’t enough for Daenerys. Not anymore.

            — See you tomorrow? – Robb whispered in her ear, placing a soft kiss on the skin of her neck and caressing her fair hair.

            — Are you sure you can’t pick me up? – she asked, staring at the blue eyes that felt slightly guilty.

            — I’m sorry, babe, but I still have to finish some contracts at the company today and tomorrow afternoon – He kissed her lips, whispering through them. – But bring Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen to dinner, my parents will love it.

            — Okay – The blond girl nodded while they were standing outside the restaurant, leaning against her Jaguar.

            — See you tomorrow, babe – he murmured with a beautiful smile as he kissed her again. She returned the long kiss, tasting his tongue deliciously caressing hers.

            The dubious sensation crossed her chest and her mind – she liked the young man, she didn’t want to hurt him looking distant, but she also didn’t want to hurt him by showing an interest that wasn’t real. So, she unleashed his lips too soon, sketching a small confused grin that made him frown for two seconds, soon smiling again.

            — See you, Robb.

And opening her shiny red car’s door, the girl turned the ignition key, moving her fingers in a delicate wave before stepping on the accelerator back home. Her thoughts seemed so agitated and undecided, always hesitating, afraid of taking a brusque step and end up falling along the way. It has been such few times that the girl felt good in her world – but she always felt good with Robb, at least until now.

And, then, she remembered last night and the little instants it took for her to feel alive and complete. Jon and Margaery were the first to make her feel at home right away, at a dense and dangerous dimension, and they were the first to tempt her to stay right there.

As soon as she parked the Jaguar at the garage and saw her father’s complete collection of Italian cars, Daenerys noticed he was at home. Honestly, she didn’t want to start a fight by listening to Aerys’ lectures about her staying the night out and fuckbla. He would talk and she would retort – what would start a possible civil war.

The heir simply sighed, taking her pack of Marlboro Lights and lightening the first cigarette before closing the car’s door with her hips. And she grinned while taking a drag and feeling the tobacco praising her through the white calming smoke, getting out with soft slow steps in her peep-toes' high heels, which were decorated with thin golden chains around the black suede – in the best Gucci fashion goddess style.

The buttoned light blue dress softly waved with the breeze – the dark brown belt around her waist giving her a delicate yet harmonic air – when the young woman crossed the Targaryen mansion’s huge silver gates, sighting the strait one-way Bel Air street, with no sidewalks and the perfect concrete like all the others from there. Numerous trees covered the sight into the mansions’ luxurious gardens with green walls all along the neighborhood, which looked more like a private condominium of LA’s upper class.

As she walked around there, between cigarette drags and the afternoon cloudy skies, Daenerys could hear a motorcycle growing sound. And then, she saw a fucking handsome Jon Snow and his shiny Harley-Davidson.

 

_“My boyfriend says I'm like an old movie star_

_With loneliness as my occupation_

_I know that he's right, but I don't care tonight_

_I want to be bad, I want to be bad_

_I can't stop”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next one: Ride.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
